March 20, 2013
Dear Mr. X,
Last night, I was back-reading on my blog entries and I wouldn’t forget how you became the daylight after my darkest night. New hopes and smiles were given to a then helpless me. From then on, I dove to discover sunken parts of your iceberg and I knew, without you knowing, your strongest and gentlest sides. You actually knew me well too, though I am not sure if you were paying much attention.
But I’m afraid that this will be the last letter I am going to write for you. After much reflection, I have finally decided to let this feeling go. Like a tree—the fall’s muse. As I am letting go, one by one, each withering leaf will be blown away by the slightest wind and no one would pick up its pieces. The fall’s muse already knows that no matter how many leaves it loses, autumn is just a phase and yet it will always remember the times when its green leaves and branches happily dance along with the wind. Seasons change and the fall’s muse knows that there will be someone along the way who would be willing to pick up its withering leaves and is willing to be there any season with assurance.
Personifications, metaphors and similes are over. I might be using hyperbole when I say I love you, but I won’t when I say that I will miss you. Let the wind whisper to your ears, whoever and wherever you are, that I am hoping to see you again.
The fall’s muse